dont leave flowers on my grave

xxiv. the ache of waiting

the two of us are lacking sorely in redamancy. floating, i stab a hole in my brain, watch in terror as its feverish eunoia pours out loquaciously. i smile with half my heart as you drink it up like milky ambrosia, relishing shamelessly in its sweet tang dancing on your tongue. i won't do the same, dove, for i fear that your heart doesn't bleed out with the infliction of poisonous love for me as my own does. for you. my eyes have darted to search for crimson stains vaunted and splattered on your chest, alas it is as white and colorless as seafoam glittering under a crescent moon's birth. you stutter words of guilt, but you shouldn't apologize for painful indifference. to gaze longingly from afar at the iridescence of one whom i adore has become my favorite pastime. maybe i dreamt you and forced you into this harsh reality. now we're both stuck here. and i will watch with ink tears melting my cheekbones as your ashen-colored wings spread. soft, yet unwilling to yield. you are otherworldly. and if you chose to fly away back to that world i know nothing of, one day i will let you come home. but for now you fade from my hazy, blurred view; i shield my eyes from the harsh ray of a dying sun with the bruised skin coloring my knuckles. this is the comedown of a high i thought would last a little longer. my knuckles are unclenched, and i've lost my way of breathing. yet i swear in a trembling whisper, " i will wait for you. "